Protector
by violaqueen93
Summary: Clint always found a way to protect Natasha. Always.


**Disclaimer: Own nothing!**

* * *

He had always protected her.

She didn't quite understand why- she had nothing to give, nothing to vouch for her. From the very first time she laid eyes on him, she knew he would never hurt her. She had been young, a girl more than a woman, he barely more than a boy, and yet he spoke to her in such gentleness that she'd trusted him absolutely.

"_Give me your hand," _he'd said. "_You don't need to be afraid."_

He had seen what the others could not. He had seen her as what she really was, a young girl manipulated by others, desperately seeking a way out. He had seen that, and offered her an escape when no one else would. He had pulled her close against his side, handing her a gun.

"_Don't go shooting me in the back all right?" _He had smiled down at her, his voice calm and merry despite the rapidly approaching pounding of boots in the corridor. "_I'm taking a leap of faith here." _She had nodded, her chest too tight to form words. They were both taking that leap together, he in believing she had a spark of goodness, she in clinging to the escape he offered. When he started running, she was right behind him.

To this day she doesn't know how he managed to get them both out of that compound. She remembers the icy fear, the shakiness of her legs, and the haziness of the hallways. It was his solid presence that kept her moving, his firm instructions and the constant rhythm of his bowstring piercing through the haze of panic, leading her to SHIELD's escape craft. They would have killed her on the spot if not for Clint's unfathomable faith in her, no doubt about that. As it was, she had been left in a high security prison during their deliberations.

She remembers the day they opened the door to her cell, Clint's wide smile. "_Well come on." _He had held out a hand to her much like he had in St. Petersburg, and once again she took it. He shielded her from the suspicious glares of the other agents, teaching her to control her anger, to channel it into a burst of lethality that could fell even the most well trained men. He teaches her how to move like a shadow, to run faster and jump higher than she ever had before. He teaches her hand to hand combat, until she surpasses him. He teaches her how to survive.

Even now, as one of SHIELD's most successful operatives, Clint always seemed protective of her, insisting he take the riskier positions, always placing himself between her and any threats they might encounter. His protection made her cocky. He always found a way to get her out a jam. So on this mission, instead of checking the upcoming hallway for any hostiles with weapons, she simply charges forward. They had a mission to complete after all.

"Nat!"

She whirls, time slowing down. There isn't any time to dodge the bullet flying straight at her heart. There isn't any time at all. A figure blurs into her vision, and she opens her mouth to cry a warning.

Agent Barton's body is thrown back into her, knocking them both onto the ground, and the sudden stillness that settles over the pair goes straight to her soul. He's utterly motionless, blood pouring from the wound at an alarming rate, absolutely gushing, and she scrambles out from under him, years of training kicking in as her pistol coughs once, twice, three times. Three bodies hit the floor.

"Clint!" The sound erupts from her before she realizes, the cry echoing down the narrow hall. Right now she has more pressing things to worry about, mainly the pasty tone of Clint's face, the way his bow slowly drops from his fingers. She drops the pistol to the ground, crawling back to where he lay. Fumbling around with her gear, she plunges her hand into her pack for the medkit while she shakily tries to make contact with SHIELD.

"Agent down, I repeat, Agent Barton is down. Severe trauma, in need of immediate medical assistance. Does anyone read?"

"Romanoff. That you?"

"Hill" Natasha momentarily pauses her desperate first aid efforts, relief washing through her at the sound of Agent Hill's voice. "Yes its me. I need help. Barton is down."

"Okay Romanoff, we're sending in a team to get you." She could hear the rapid clicking of a computer keyboard in the background, the shouted orders at the temporary HQ SHIELD had set up, but it fades as she turnsher full attention onto her partner.

"Come on Clint, come on. Stay with me now!" Natasha begs, hands fluttering over his wounds. He cracks open his eyes and gives a slow nod, though his breathing is slow and measured and even. With that Natasha picks him up in her arms, and though his weight almost makes her legs buckle, she stumbles on with a grim determination.

It seems like an eternity before other agents surround her, relieving her of Barton's weight and escorting them both out to where an evac helicopter waits. As soon as they're hauled on board, it takes off but not before security lights strobe on. There's a crackle of gunfire, urgent shouting. Natasha huddles by Clint's stretcher, holding his hand. The helicopter rocks from the force of several impacts, but manages to right itself before gaining speed. Natasha hears a curious clunking sound.

For a moment there's a second of silence. Then comes the shout.

"Grenade!"

Its like they're in a cartoon, the way everyone freezes, stunned in the face of imminent death. Only Clint reacts despite his injuries, wrenching himself from the stretcher and onto the floor, covering the explosive and rolling to the side. Before anyone can stop him, both he and the grenade disappear over the edge.

There's a sound in her ears, a screeching, shrieking sound that threatens to drown out the sound of even the helicopter's rotors. It's her screams. Helplessly Natasha watches as Clint's body spirals out of sight. There's an explosion, the shock buffeting the helicopter with unstable winds. She closes her eyes.

He always found a way to protect her. Always.

* * *

**Ugh why can't I write happy fics of these two? They always struck me as a Romeo and Juliet couple though. Got any requests, criticisms, praise? Get at me.**


End file.
